ohbloodyhell8

It’s been four months.  And my soul is still so sad. I spent most of today with tears gently streaming down my face.  While sitting at the cemetery, it was a full-out bawling.  I got home and planted my ass on my love seat and stared at the television.  Then I did some grading.  Then I went on Facebook.  I checked my Twitter.  I sit and try to fill my brain with thoughts other than my father.  I am going to be graphic below so if you don’t want to read yucky stuff stop reading here.  I need to write this out and writing it in my journal hasn’t cut it and so I am sending it out into the cyber world void.

I keep telling myself my dad is dead because I have not accepted it.  I should have by now.  I identified his body and that image haunts me in my dreams and while I’m awake.  I still see the shape of his body under the sheet and it just looked wrong.  The hospital had done a beautiful job with cleaning him up before I saw him, but he still had tears of blood gently streaming down his face.  From what I’ve been told that would have been because of serious head trauma.  I knew something was wrong with his legs that night and a few days later, when I cleaned out his car, I saw one of his shoes had come off at impact.  So I know I was right about his legs.  It was my father’s body on that table and I know that but I still think he will call any minute.  Or one of his goofy letters will arrive in the mail tomorrow.

All of our birthdays have passed without a card from him, except for my father-in-law’s birthday.  I don’t know if he sent a card in the mail to Pop, but I do know he would go over with a pie and the two of them would spend a couple of hours eating pie and shooting the breeze.  Thanksgiving, Christmas.  I can’t imagine it without him.

Tomorrow night we go to A Christmas Carol.  My father started this tradition five years ago.  He had gone once before and then invited us the next year.  This will be our fifth time and our first time without him.  I am bringing a box of tissues and fully expect to be a mess.  I wonder if tomorrow night will make his death more real.  I need to accept it and find a way of living with it.

But I miss him.  And I want to ask him how he is.  I want to ask him for advice about anything.  I want to show him the boys’ school pictures.  I want to listen to one of his really, really long answering machine messages.  I want to see him when he comes on campus for an event.  I want to pick out a new bumper sticker for his car.  I want to hug him again.

I want the image of him in the trauma center erased from my memory.  I know by the extent of his injuries that it was merciful that he died, and the doctors said he was in a coma the whole time and didn’t know what happened, but I want him back.

And I know there are so many other things in this world that are sad, tragic, horrific, probably more so than one woman experiencing the death of her father, but this is where my mind is stuck.  I am trying to unstick it.  I feel like I’m caught in a loop and can’t get out of it.  I want to focus on the happy memories of my father, the wonderful things he taught me, the love he gave me unconditionally.  I just wish I had longer with him.  He came into our lives when I was twelve, adopted me when I was 22, and I want more time.

I realize though that I have to find a way to accept the death of my father and get my mind “not stuck” on that night four months ago.  Before it becomes all encompassing.  Before it impacts my husband, my sons. Before I get stuck with this sadness in my soul.

So far I’ve been using counseling and food.  I’ve gotten good at the food part.  Put on 25 pounds in four months.  I’ve gone to my other doc at this point to ask for something to take the edge off and to check my blood pressure with the weight gain.

So now I’m trying this too.  Writing soothes the soul.  So I’ve been told.